


Death Will Tremble To Take Us

by soft_rains



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_rains/pseuds/soft_rains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the ghosts of days past and enemies on all sides, it might be time to draw new lines in the sand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Will Tremble To Take Us

It’s a sunny, summer morning when Allison knocks at his door; he can hear the birds chirping over the blood rushing through his ears in righteous disbelief. That only lasts for a few seconds, though, before he recovers and promptly slams the door in her face.

Or tries to.

Because Allison is still a ninja princess and gets her foot in the door at the last second.

“I know you owe me nothing, but just give me one minute.”

He takes in her appearance. She’s gone back to her usual wardrobe of indie dresses and stockings and yet- she is not the one she was before (the line of her shoulders speaks of a steady hand and an anger that only blood can satisfy).  But nor is she the vengeful huntress, the memory of an aunt that whispered poison in her ear.

“You’re not the Allison I would give a minute to,” he tells her, honestly.

Because that’s his new thing. He is being honest with others, as much as he can afford to be (he resolutely doesn’t think about how it will never offset how much he lies to himself) and some of what he says comes out more harshly than it ever would have before. Allison, to her credit, doesn’t miss a beat.

“I know,” she levels, “But nor are you the Stiles you were at the beginning of all this.”

And, well, she has a point. He is not nearly the same person he was a year ago. He has done terrible things, (plied his father with drink, set a man on fire, lies lies _lies_ ) things a younger him, a more naïve him, would never have imagined doing. He cannot deny that his mind has become a much darker place than it ever was before.

Maybe that’s why he entertains her, why he opens the door fully and asks her, “Who are you here on behalf of?”

Because really, she was Miss Kill-Them-All for quite a while there, but he also wouldn’t put it past Scott to miraculously work things out with her. He sees something in her body language shift, (a hint of nerves?) but tellingly, her voice does not shake when she answers him.

She merely tilts her chin up and replies, “Neither party.”

And Stiles can’t help it, he laughs- one short, slightly hysterical bark (that gives entirely too much away) and he’s halfway to telling her to pull the other one when he catches her eyes.

They are steel, in the same way that they were in the warehouse two weeks (a lifetime) ago.

“I’m here for you, Stiles,” she tells him, “I’m here with a proposition.”

“Well, this should be good,” he snarks.

He can’t help it, honestly. Because _no one_ has been here and he is so, so done with people asking things of him. He is tired of being a walking library, a revolving door that no one pays any mind to.

Allison shifts her feet and gets straight to the point, “You’ve been there for every curve in the road, Stiles, and we may not have taken the ride together, but it has been much the same journey for both of us. That’s how I know you’ll take this proposition and run with it. Because, like me, you’re tired. You’re so, so tired and you want out,” here, she cocks her head and stares at him in a way that unnerves him immensely, “You’ll never admit it, of course, you’re far too loyal a friend and prideful and man to do so, but it’s true. Almost dying every other day has lost its appeal and the adrenaline rush doesn’t help when the darkness comes for you at night.”

She pointedly shifts her gaze to his face, where the cuts have scabbed and the bruises have changed from purple to sickly shades of green and yellow. Stiles feels like she is seeing past them and into his head, where his time with Gerard (water and fists, blood and darkness) repeats endlessly in the starlight hours.

And honestly, how is he meant to handle Allison’s cryptic crap on top of everything else?

“Your point?” he asks flatly, slouching a bit against his door.

“My point is this: There is no out. No matter how much you crave to be free of this, you can’t be. None of us can.”

“Wow, real groundbreaking concept,” he gets out through grinding teeth.

Because he already fucking knows this. He knows that this is his life: werewolves and lizard monsters, humans who think it’s their God-given right to murder, mysterious vets versed in magic.  And he knows there’s no turning away from it.

She goes on like she was never interrupted, “But that doesn’t mean we have to bow to the supernatural elements of our life. I don’t know about you, but I kind of want to live to see graduation day.  So this is my proposal:  I’m pretty good with a bow and I know from the guys down at the shooting range that the sheriff's son is pretty good with a gun. We team up, watch each other’s backs. Because no one else will. We’ve both learned that the hard way.”

Stiles thinks of the way he had been so sure Scott would come for him in that dungeon, had been so sure through barrage of punches, through the pain of a knife along his ribs, through watching the betas’ eyes go wide as he was dragged up the stairs, through the hand yanking his head in and out of the bathtub, through the mantra of _keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing_ and eventually _inevergottotellmydadimsorryimsosorry._ And he thinks of the long walk home, bloody and broken, and the silence in his head, the truth setting in his bones that he was expendable and why had he entertained otherwise, really? The point finally driven home that he didn’t mean half as much to anyone as they did to him.

He shakes himself out of his head as the familiar sensation of panic starts to creep up the back of his throat and focuses on what Allison is saying.

“There’s a storm coming. I know you can feel it too.”

And it’s true. Scott’s been separating himself more and more from Stiles lately, but even he’s heard of the strange triskele that’s been popping up in strategic places for last few weeks. He feels the tempest gathering under his skin just as much he sees the storm clouds congregate in his friend’s eyes. He looks to Allison again and from the slight smirk on her lips, she knows that she’s gotten to him.

He doesn’t trust Allison, never really has, even at the height of her and Scott’s relationship. Because he has always been the realism to Scott’s idealism and learned at a young age that trust is a commodity not to be given away freely and that people are not to be underestimated, nor their natures presumed. And here, on his doorstep, Allison looks no less deadly than the girl that took two knives to Isaac’s internal organs, but he can see it in tension in her stance that she is done with being manipulated and knows that Stiles is too.

“You’re not a wolf and I’m not a hunter, but if we stick together, we might just make it out of this town alive.”

And God help him, it goes against every instinct he has, but he puts out his hand.

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

The sun shines on.

He can almost hear the thunder in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very, very long time since I've written anything: poetry, fanficiton, original fiction, anything. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but I'd like to eventually incorporate sterek. And in case it wasn't obvious, a little more went down in Gerard's basement in this fic than in cannon.


End file.
